


Six Questions

by now_a_malec_writer



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Break Up, Drama, Love, M/M, Malec, Sad Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-22 00:57:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15570210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/now_a_malec_writer/pseuds/now_a_malec_writer
Summary: The real honest summary is: a super short story where we dissect how love dies.Good luck!(This is another attempt of mine of playing with my writing a little bit. I hope you like it.All stories are posted first on Instagram. Follow: @now_a_malec_writer.Thanks, Kat and Vic for the support with this one!)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really short story with even shorter chapters. 
> 
> I could post them as one big chapter, but I decided to post them separately to respect the original structure I had for this.

Sonnet of Fidelity

Above all, to my love I'll be attentive  
First and always, with care and so much  
That even when facing the greatest enchantment  
By love be more enchanted my thoughts.

I want to live it through in each vain moment  
And in its honor I'll spread my song  
And laugh my laughter and cry my tears  
When you are sad or when you are content.

And thus, when afterwards comes looking for me  
Who knows, the death, anxiety of the living,  
Who knows, the loneliness, end of all lovers

I'll be able to say to myself of the love (I had):  
Be not immortal, since it is flame  
But be infinite while it lasts.

Vinicius de Moraes

******

How is it possible to explain the complexity of certain things through words?  
How do we know we questioned enough?  
How do we know when to stop making questions?

******

In Journalism, an event must be explained by the answering of six main questions, that must be addressed as quickly as possible to the reader or audience.

We’ll put this theory to the test. 

The event we’re analyzing today is the end of love.


	2. What?

The end. 

With that, it would be official. They were done. There's nothing left to do except lament? Except be grateful for everything? 

He wasn't feeling very grateful now. It was all too fresh. Like a cut. He was still bleeding, staining all the objects he touched, all the places he went. With sorrow.

He opened the door. 

It was all… weird. He felt like someone else was doing all those movements. Moving his head in the door’s direction as soon as he heard the doorbell; getting up from the couch they bought together many years ago; walked to the entrance; touched the doorknob, the coldness of it similar to the one he was feeling inside himself; and finally opening the door to see that familiar face. That face that meant so much to him for so many years. 

A face that represented strength, a safe haven, a desire, a fantasy, a reality, all together. 

A face that made him do the most courageous things. The craziest ones. The most stupid ones. 

A face that gave him the reassurance that always lacked in his life. 

For as long as he remembered, that face was like a map he could draw with his eyes closed. It was a map he knew how to read so well; he mastered that over the years. He knew his secrets, his mannerisms. When he was sad and maintained a severe façade. That open smile that evolved into laughter full of life and made his eyes wrinkled in the most adorable way. 

And now. 

And now that face must be of what? Of a stranger?

Like you could erase all the years you shared with someone. All the moments when the thing you needed the most was to hold their hand, to make sure you could do it. You could go through one more day, one more challenge, one more disappointment life throws at you. Because that hand was there. That person was there. It was yours. 

He was sure that was the reason why we were alive. To be in love. To experience that in the best way possible. Fully. 

And now. 

Now he was dealing with the loss of all that. 

In a way, it was the loss of himself. Who was he alone, as a single person, after all that time together, sharing everything? The experiences, the sadness, the happy moments, the bed, the cravings. 

When a relationship is over, a part of you is gone too. You’re no longer “that person.” What made you like this is no longer there. 

You get only emptiness. And this strange self, in a life that seems foreign, in a land that is entirely unknown.


	3. How?

While they were finally talking about it, he kept asking himself: how? 

Just that. How?

How you go from a happy relationship to this. To nothing. To the end. 

Man, he has been crying for days. The nights were the worst, that’s when he was alone, and reality hit him ruthlessly. Cruel and unsparing. Their bed seemed to be there to mock him. He started to sleep on the couch. It was easier, a little, it was neutral, he felt a bit safe. 

He was falling into this abyss, and he wasn’t sure he would survive that fall. Right now, it seemed impossible. 

How?

How?

The worst part is that he agreed with everything. There were no accusations. No screaming. A lot of crying, but no screaming or yelling. They were crying and kissing each other - kisses on the hands, on the mouth, on the tears that insisted on fell all over them. Kisses like they were trying to make the other one feel better like they could give this a respectable end, an end full of love that wasn’t there at the last months anyway.

The last breath. 

A way to prolong a life that was already extinct. 

How we took things for granted. We always think that the fact that two people want to be together will be enough. Sometimes it’s not. Love is good, it’s necessary, it’s great, but sometimes… We get lazy. Cocky. We think that it will be there forever. We don’t need to put any efforts in it anymore. We already won. 

And we stop.

We stop caring; we stop listening, we stop showing up, we don’t surprise the other anymore, we don’t value the little things. 

Everything is just routine. 

Everything is just there like it was always a part of you. And we stop paying attention. It’s just… part of the landscape. 

The tragedy is that it is this unstoppable process, something that develops slowly, but gradually, it grows, and you don’t see it. You don’t feel it. A silent killer. 

Gestures that would be motive for Homeric fights were now tolerated, and after all, ignored. Who has the time to give a good night kiss? To wish the other one a good day? To ask if the other one was okay? If there were something wrong, they would talk about it, right? They would sense it. They would fight it. 

Except they didn’t. They were too much into this to go back to the old days. The days where they felt alive. Now they were living; automatically, robotically, they were just together because… 

Because that’s how things always were, right? 

The work was already done. 

And that, my friends, it’s how you slowly kill love.


	4. Where?

The decision was made in the same couch he was seated minutes before. 

He remembers that night only because he was still living it. He could hear the “I think we need to talk” and he could see himself sitting on the couch countless times like his life would end there, stuck to that moment.   
He was sad, sometimes he regretted that, but honestly, it was a chronicle of a death foretold. 

He also wanted to say it happened there, on the couch, in a way to delimitate a place, like those bodies on the ground drawn with chalk. 

Because something definitely died. 

But that’s not how it happens. It ended that night, after a lot of talking from the previous days, a lot of crying, desperate sex, followed by days where they completely ignored each other. They were trying to fix this, but they were starting to question what was there to save and fix in the first place. 

When you see yourself in a crisis, you start to make the difficult questions no one likes to face. Were they happy? Were they happy together? Were they together because they wanted to or because it was comfortable to not deal with it?

There’s a difference. 

It happened… everywhere. Every day. In every gesture. In every lack of touch. In every demand. And in every silence. In every missed opportunity that none of them chased. In every “I’ll fix this later,” “I’m not in the mood, sorry,” “Of course I was listening!”, “I’m sorry, what did you say?”, “Sure, I would love to go out tonight,” “Can we stay home just this once?”.

So unbalanced. So misplaced. A domino of errors in front of them. Quicksand beneath them. Eating them, striking them, hurting them. 

Where, do you ask? 

In them. It was in them. 

They. 

They were the place, the reason, the guilt. 

They knew it. 

It was like a cloth being stripped, its fibers breaking slowly, being stretched to the point of undoing, a point of no return. 

Where? Everywhere they were. 

And everywhere they weren't.


	5. Who?

Some could say it was Magnus’ fault because he was the first that brought it up. 

We know better, don't we? 

Alec just reacted to that, frozen, offended. Scared. 

He wasn't happy either, he knew it. But to address it… it would imply dealing with it. Fighting for it (Could they…?). Maybe losing it. 

Which they eventually did. 

They both agreed it wasn't working anymore, and for quite some time. They still cared about each other, sure, they built this life together, all that… the family, the memories, the jokes, the supportive hugs, the celebrations, they were all real. 

They just ceased, slowly, faded in the middle of a lot of unimportant things that buried them alive. 

Don't think this didn't involve eventual yelling. It did. Accusations. “Why did you…?”, “Why didn't you…?” “I'm tired.” “I'm sick of this.” “I don't feel like you care.” “ I don't think you wanna be here anymore.” “Well, do you?”

Silence.

Attempts. Promises. “We can try therapy.” “I can come home early from work.” “Maybe we should go out more.” “I'll be better.” “We still love each other, right? It's just a phase…”

But they already gave each other all they had. There was nothing left, that love took everything from them. The touches were not the same. They didn't want to touch anymore. They were not seeking one another, chasing lips, grabbing, being playful. They were respectful. “I know you're tired.” “I don't wanna disturb you.” “Can we do that on the weekend?”

Conversations were trivial. It seems like they were filling forms:

“How was your day?”  
“Good.”

“How was your day?”  
“Okay.”

“How was your day?”  
“The same.”

“How was your day?”  
“Nothing new.”

Both of them. 

Nothing new. 

Both of them. 

Nothing.


	6. When?

Some might say it all started when they had a silly argument about taking the trash out. It’s ridiculous how the insignificant things can get out of proportion in the wrong context. When you’re done, when you’re kind of sick of each other, everything is a trigger. The food that never made it to the fridge that night, the trash no one takes care of, the dishes piling up in the sink, the music that is too loud, the shower that keeps leaking and dripping, getting water everywhere. Oh, the leak. 

His family. Our friends. 

The clothes. 

The weather. 

What tv show to watch. 

It could have started when they stopped. 

They stopped, and it was even worse than the fights. 

When you stop - for the wrong reasons -, you’re saying you don’t care. You’re giving up, “here’s my towel. I’m throwing that at your face because I don't need that anymore.” Surrender. 

You get to that point of being indifferent. You don’t notice, but you start to plan parts of your life alone because “you can’t count on that person.” “He’s not reliable.” “He doesn’t care.” “He has better things to do.” Well, you’re not doing much to change that either. 

The safety of love can be the trick to lose it. But you don’t know this at first, you’re hopeful, you’re blind. You’re faithful. “It will be different; this is special, I can feel it.” It’s so special that it happens to all people in love. 

But love is difficult. Love is the most challenging thing you can do as a human being. Love is powerful, but also delicate. It's fragile. It's a plant you gotta water regularly. It's not a cactus. It won't survive in the dry weather. 

Roughness doesn't suit a plant like love. 

And we think it does. It will survive all. There's no challenge love can't face. We see all the happy endings, all those stories, and we see our future in those. 

Fools. 

But don't think it wasn't real or honest. It was. It just also had an expiration date no other bothered to check.


	7. Why?

The most difficult one to answer. 

The most unpleasant one. 

Why? 

Because. 

It's harder to explain a situation like this when there's nothing concrete and real to blame. No one cheated. No one had a drinking problem. They didn't fall in love with someone else. It wasn't money. 

It just happened. They couldn't put their fingers on it. It was this ethereal thing standing between them, making them grew apart. In a way, it was natural as the process of them getting together. 

It was inevitable. 

They saw each other, they felt it. They were calling each other. They answered that calling. Everything happened fast, and friends were scared and surprised by their certainty. Of how much they seemed made for each other. 

They move in quickly. 

They put a lot of work into making their tiny apartment a home. A space that reflected all the things they felt for each other. The adoration. The happiness. The gratitude. 

It was all a long process, interrupted by occasional getaways, romantic gestures, night out with friends, drinking, hangovers, love in the morning, love at night, quiet moments where words were dispensable. 

With time, the house stopped reflecting them. There was nothing to be reflected by those walls. 

Work.   
Tiredness.   
Boredom.   
Loneliness. 

It was everything and nothing. 

It was a trap they created themselves, and they felt for it. 

They were more and more like... friends? Roommates. Sharing the bills. A few laughs. But not a life. Not building memories together. They were reminiscent of themselves. Shells of the past, not enjoying the present and not planning a future. 

Why was it over? 

Because one day Magnus woke up. He woke up and saw a stranger, in the shape of his longtime love, laying next to him. 

And he noticed that the feelings that grounded them had changed. 

He changed. 

They did. Both. But not together, not in the same direction. 

That morning, while he was drinking his coffee and Alec was reading the paper, not even facing each other (do they remember how to do this? How to be affectionate towards each other?), Magnus said one sentence, one single line that broke all the steadiness around, it put an end to the inertia spell they were living under for so long. 

“Alexander, I'm not happy anymore.”


	8. Be infinite while it lasts

Alec opened the door to see Magnus there. He had a few carbon boxes with him. He needed to get all his stuff out of the apartment. They decided to sell it.

Who wants to live in a place haunted by the memories of your old self? 

“Hey.”

A quick and polite smile was there, a smile that seemed like an impossible task to provide now, a smile that demanded the strength from the deepest place on Earth. 

Ufff, he managed. 

Alec seemed to have lost weight. Magnus had bags under his eyes. The most hurtful thing is that the fact that they were no longer together did not erase what they knew about each other. They knew how much in pain they were now. They wanted to reach out and comfort and hug. They didn't. That person, that body, those feelings, they were now out of reach, out of touch. They were forbidden territory, a land that was. But no longer. 

Magnus walked in. 

“You didn't have to be here, you know.”  
“Yeah, I do.”  
(But I want to.)

“I just need some documents and some clothes; I'll get the rest later this week.”  
(I'm sorry.)

“No, it's okay. Take what you need. I'll start packing too, Izzy and Jace will help me.”  
(I'm sorry too.)

All around was the same, but not quite. Not even close. 

“Hmmm… do you want some coffee? We still have some left from our trip to Colombia.”  
(It wasn't all in vain, was it? We had a good time, didn't we?)

“Sure. Thanks.”  
(Of course, we did. It didn't last, but it was good for a long time. It was real.)

Magnus was moving to a room that, until a while ago, was also his office. 

Alec came in with two hot cups a few minutes later. 

A situation being both familiar and entirely new. Unsettling. Plain sad. 

There was not a home anymore. They were tearing apart something else. Just a place. 

But also a lifetime. 

Their movements were delicate, unsteady, unsure, and still, it felt like they were smashing a holy place with hammers. Every book out of place was a profanity. Oh, let the gods judge them since they couldn't do it themselves anymore. 

Magnus took his cup from Alec's. No contact. 

“Hmmm, this is really good.”  
(We are doing the right thing, aren't we?)

“Yeah. Still the best I ever had.”  
(We are. But why does it hurt this much?)

They were looking all around, except into each other's eyes. 

They drank their coffees. 

Like everything else in life, soon, that was over too.


End file.
